


Red Fields

by Thranduils_Bossy_Elk



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Gentle caring for, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Thorinduil - Freeform, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 18:12:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1437811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thranduils_Bossy_Elk/pseuds/Thranduils_Bossy_Elk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A drabble featuring a wounded Thranduil and a caring Thorin after a battle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Fields

**Author's Note:**

> This is for endlesslysherlocked on tumblr! I have to fess up that I don't read any LOTR fanfic usually (but of course I LOVE the films and books) so not sure what most LOTR fans are looking for in their fic. So this is in the most Tolkein-y style I could manage I guess? Sorry it's so short, if more ideas come to me I'll write them up :D
> 
> Slightly AU...? Or *during the battle, not at the end cause we all know what happens at the end.

Thranduil was a sight both beautiful and sad.  As he lay upon the ground his long, slender limbs had tangled together loosely, as those of a climbing plant just cut.  His face was unmarked, save for a single cut on his cheek upon which quivered a bright drop of blood.   Far away clamored the sounds of battle, and around Thranduil lay many fallen friends.  

Thorin, upon breaking from the battle and observing the Elvenking stretched upon the ground with a bright blossom of blood on his chest, let his axe drop to the floor in sorrow and hurt.   He came to Thranduil's side and knelt there, his own battle-wounds many.  

Thorin was ashamed to touch so beautiful a being with his bloodstained hand, but Thranduil’s eyes fluttered open as if he had sensed the Dwarf-lord’s presence.  His lips parted and he breathed a sigh.  To Thorin it sounded as if a grey-plumaged bird had rustled its wings and given voice to the moonlight.  He took Thranduil’s hand in his own held it tenderly as his rough hands knew how.  

“My lord,” he whispered.  Tears fell unbidden from Thorin’s eyes.  He was not ashamed to weep, for the tears gave voice to something he could not.  

Thranduil’s crown of red berries had fallen from his pale hair, so Thorin took it up from where it lay bright against the mud and placed it in the Elvenking’s lap.  Thranduil wound his long fingers into the delicate crown and his eyes, so far away and hurt, returned to Thorin’s face lovingly.  

Thorin could find no words in his voice, so instead he turned to words that poured from his heart in song:

 

_Wind upon the plain,_

_And song in greenwood trees,_

_Remember, remember._

_When flies the grey bird,_

_And cries at night the silver wolf,_

_I remember our first meeting,_

_There in shaded glen,_

_Till now, upon the red fields._

 

Upon thinking of the red fields in which they both lay, Thorin’s song died and he fell silent.  

In that moment, hearing the gentle and lilting song, Thranduil placed a trembling hand on Thorin’s dark hair and pressed a silent kiss upon his forehead.  

“I will not leave this earth just yet,” he whispered, voice no more than the promise of hope.  

Thorin’s eyes closed in quiet joy.  

Thranduil’s lips were cool and soft against his cheek now.  

“I will not leave _you_.”

 


End file.
